


The Winchester Boys and the Case of the Grumpy Angel

by nutmeag83



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bickering, But only a little, Case Fic, Castiel and Dean Winchester bicker like an old married couple, Castiel burrito, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean Winchester is grumpy too, Domestic Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Molting Castiel (Supernatural), POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Post whatever season you want it to be, Sam Winchester is So Done, Sam Winchester ships it, Sharing a Bed, castiel is a grumpy fucker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28967415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeag83/pseuds/nutmeag83
Summary: Cas, newly living at the bunker, seems to always be cranky these days. Dean tries to figure out why.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 26
Kudos: 219
Collections: my favorite Destiel fics





	1. What Dean Knows

**Author's Note:**

> I recently read [Le Nouveau](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775543/chapters/8391856) by museaway, and it had such a *delightfully* grumpy Cas, and I loved it (go read it). Then I read a molting fic (that I forgot to save, sorry!), and my brain went “a molting Cas would be sooooo grumpy.” So I wrote this thing.
> 
> This doesn’t take place during any particular time. I’ve only seen through season 10, but I think I leave it vague enough that it could maybe be after the end of the entire series if you want.
> 
> Not beta'd. We fall like Cas.

Dean doesn’t notice it at first. Cas tends to be a cranky guy in general—though Dean’s not sure how much of that is just his low, gravelly voice, how much is annoyance with the shit they deal with on the regular, and how much is pure grumpy Cas—but after they’re all back at the bunker for a few weeks and things have quieted down, Cas still shows major signs of agro for something he won’t talk about. Not that Dean has asked. Because when do they ever talk about their feelings apart from when one of them is dying or just back from dying?

But things in the supernatural world seem to be staying calm these days, and Cas doesn’t show signs of flitting off to somewhere away from Dean, and he’s afraid to question that, in case it all comes crashing down yet again. So he watches.

“Morning,” Dean rumbles out from behind his coffee cup, watching from the kitchen table as Cas pours his own.

Cas grunts and turns to face Dean. He’s all frowny wrinkles and hooded eyes, and usually Dean knows well enough to leave the guy alone when he’s like this, but he’s kinda tired of avoiding him. The bunker is Dean’s home, and fuck anyone who wants to make him feel uncomfortable in his own damn home.

“Plans for the day?” he asks around a mouthful of cereal.

Cas slumps onto the seat across from him, still frowning. He shakes his head no and stares into his coffee like it holds the world’s secrets. Wouldn’t that be nice? Dean’d love to get a break for once. He’s tired of angels, demons, gods, and whatever other big bads are waiting in the woodwork to come after them. He’d really love to just hunt a fucking rugaru for once.

“Wanna watch _Star Wars_?”

Cas starts to shake his head again, but stops. “Which one?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “ _Star Wars_ ,” he says again.

“Yes, Dean, you just said that. However, _Star Wars_ encompasses a number of movies, television shows, and tie-in books. Which do you mean?” His voice is extra gravelly, which means he’s probably irritated. Again. Surprise.

He plows on. “Yeah, but I’m talking about the first one. The one called _Star Wars_.”

Cas sighs, exasperated. “That doesn’t narrow it down. They’re _all_ called _Star Wars_. Do you mean _The Phantom Menace_ , which is the first movie chronologically, or _A New Hope_ , which is the original film?”

Dean throws up his hands. “I told you not to call it that! The first one is just _Star Wars_. They only tacked on the _New Hope_ part later.”

“Yes, because they needed to differentiate between the series title and the first movie. Being a purist about this is more than a little ridiculous. All of the later movie posters and movie paraphernalia call it _A New Hope_. I don’t understand why you’re so stubborn about a movie that came out two years before your birth.”

“What crawled up your ass and died, Cas? I just wanted to watch a fucking movie with you. There’s no need to bite my head off.” He ignores the part where he’s being just as grumpy and nitpicky about the name of the stupid movie. Cas must be rubbing off on him. Rude.

“I’m not biting your head off. I don’t eat, and even if I did, humans would not be my preferred food.”

As Dean is about to come up with some witty comeback, he hears a chuckle. He glances across the room to see Sam leaning against the doorframe.

“What do you want, Samantha?” he growls.

Sam puts his hands up. “Hey, don’t bring me into it. I’m just an innocent bystander.” He goes over to pour himself a cup of joe. “If you two geeks ever stop fighting about movie titles and want to actually watch the movie, let me know.”

“I didn’t ask if _you_ wanted to watch the movie.”

“Never said I was gonna watch the movie. Watching you two squabble during a movie is much more entertaining. I might make popcorn.”

“Shut up, Sam,” both Dean and Cas say, glaring at him.

“Fine, I’ll find some other way to entertain myself. See you two sourpusses later.” Sam backs out of the room with the stupidest smile on his face. What the fuck is he so happy about?

“So, do you wanna watch _Episode Four_ ,” Dean asks, and he lets the sarcasm drip all over the last bit.

“Fine. Yes,” Cas growls back.

They glare at each other for a few moments until Dean gets exasperated, stands up, and takes his dishes to the sink. As he’s furiously scrubbing dishes, he feels a presence and looks over to see a chagrined Cas standing next to him with a towel. He takes the dish Dean just finished rinsing and dries it.

“I- I’m sorry, Dean,” he says lowly as he sets aside the first dish and takes the next. “I haven’t been feeling myself lately, and I’m afraid I’m taking it out on you.”

Dean shrugs and picks up the next dish—there’s a small pile of them because Sam is incapable of cleaning up after himself. “Um, me too. I think we’re both a little on edge. Things going quiet usually don’t mean anything good. And even if we had a good type of quiet, I’m not sure either of us can handle the lack of adrenaline.”

“My vessel does not produce adrenaline like a human’s would,” says Cas, and continues when he sees Dean with his mouth open to protest, “but I understand what you mean. We are men of action.”

Dean can’t help smiling. “Did you just quote _The Princess Bride_?” he asks, leaning a hip on the edge of the sink to face his best friend. All the annoyance leaves him, and he’s back to the fondness he prefers.

“Perhaps,” Cas says, trying to and failing to look cool and unaffected. Dean can see the pleased pride underneath it.

***

Cas wiggles in the back seat for about the eight thousandth time in two hours. They’re on their way to a case in Kansas City, and Dean wants to fidget just from watching the angel in the rearview mirror.

“What the hell is wrong, Cas?” he finally asks.

Cas freezes, then crosses his arms. “Nothing.”

“Try again. You haven’t been able to sit still in the two hours since we left home. Something is obviously wrong, ‘cause usually you’re as still as a statue.” Cas gives an aborted wiggle. Dean’s hands tighten on Baby’s wheel.

Things have been tense in the bunker for the last week or so, what with Cas still being extra irritable. And his grumpiness is making Dean grumpy, which is just not fair. He should be happy right now. No one is dying, the world isn’t ending, and he’s got his favorite people with him. But Cas has made him feel restless and annoyed, and he’s taken to cleaning out the storerooms and archives to cope. Sometimes Cas joins him, until they start bickering too much, and other times Sam does, but mostly Dean’s been working alone. He’s found a few cool things to add to the bunker’s décor and a few other artifacts that Sam and Cas have nerded over. The rest of his time is spent cleaning. The place doesn’t get dusty—because magic?—but the more trafficked areas do need floors mopped and tables wiped down, and it gives him something to do. Still, he was relieved when Sam found them a nearby case yesterday. Dean (and he suspects Cas) could use the distraction.

“I’m fine,” Cas finally says, and he seems determined to prove it by not moving a muscle.

Dean looks over at Sam, who gives a small shrug. He’s rifling through papers for their latest case.

“So, what do we know besides ‘mysterious disappearances?’” he asks, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Well, there doesn’t seem to be any connection between the missing people,” Sam explains. “Different ages, genders, races, economic statuses. They’re all in the metro area, but different neighborhoods. The only thing they seem to have in common is that they were all taken in their sleep. All but one live with other people, and no one sleeping in the same home heard or seen anything strange.”

“And no signs left behind like blood or sulfur or anything, I guess?” Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head. “Nada. It’s like they all got up and walked out of their houses, and they took nothing with them.”

Dean is trying to remember if he’s ever heard of something similar when there’s a thump on the bottom of his seat. A few seconds later it comes again. He glares in the rearview mirror. Cas is fidgeting _again_. He kicks Dean’s seat a third time.

“Dear God, Cas, if you don’t stop kicking my seat, I’m gonna make you get out and _walk_ there.”

Cas pouts. “There’s not enough space back here.”

Dean and Sam share a confused glance.

“Um, is everything okay?” Sam asks with a frown.

“I’m _fine_.”

“Obviously not,” Sam says.

“I just don’t like being cooped up back here. The seat is uncomfortable and its hot.” Cas yanks at the collar of his shirt.

Dean sees a rest stop ahead and signals to take the exit.

“What are you doing? I’m not walking to Kansas City,” Cas says. Dean glances in the mirror to see him slumping low in his seat as if to dig in for a siege.

“You need to stretch your legs, I think,” is Dean’s only explanation. What the fuck is going on? The guy is often grumpy, but this is a whole ‘nother level. Cas is an angel. He doesn’t get uncomfortable. Or fidgety.

Dean pulls into a spot, and he and Sam get out. Cas stays put, and so Dean sticks his head back in the car. “What’s wrong now?”

“I’m not walking over a hundred miles,” he says, arms still crossed and his lip sticking out like a petulant (word of the day, score) four-year-old.

It’s annoying, but also kind of adorable. Dean banishes the last thought. “I’m not gonna make you walk all the way there. But you _are_ going to get out and walk around here. You obviously need to let off some steam. So take a few laps, ‘kay?”

Cas stares at him and finally sighs. He climbs out of the car. “ _Don’t_ leave without me.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “As if you couldn’t steal a car easy peasy.”

“I don’t _want_ to steal a car. I want to ride with you.”

Fair enough, but the whine brings up another point of recent weirdness. Cas has become extra clingy. He sits at the table during meals, even though he doesn’t eat. He just watches Dean and Sam, sometimes holding a cup of coffee. He gets bored during the day and follows Dean around the bunker. He hovers at the door to whichever storeroom Dean is currently cleaning out, but only rarely offers to help. It’s _weird_.

“Then shut your piehole, walk around the path a few times, get your head out of your ass, and come back when you’re done pouting, okay?”

Cas frowns. “I’m _not_ pouting,” he pouts, but he heads for the sidewalk that circles the rest stop, shoulders bowed like someone took his puppy.

“What the hell was that?” asks Sam as they watch the grumpy angel walk away.

“I dunno, dude. He’s been like that for weeks. He acts like he hates being here, but he also refuses to leave. It’s like a toddler fighting a nap.” Dean rubs a hand over his face.

Sam chuckles. “Like you know what toddlers are like.”

Dean looks at him, flabbergasted.

Sam frowns. “What?”

“In case you forgot, I raised your grumpy toddler ass in tiny motels rooms. I remember _very well_ what toddlers are like.”

Sam’s eyebrows go up. “Oh yeah, I guess you did. I suppose I sort of … forget that? To me, you were just my brother. But yeah, it wasn’t like Dad was really raising us.”

It hadn’t been too bad in the beginning. Dad didn’t know what hunting was at first, so they spent the first couple of years after the fire in a small temporary apartment in Lawrence. It wasn’t until Sam was potty trained that they really started traveling as Dad sniffed out stories of demons or mysterious circumstances. Then he started hunting other things. And Dean, far too young, realized he was the only one around to give Sammy the attention a little kid needed.

“Not so much, no,” Dean agrees with his brother.

“So what do you think’s wrong with him?” Sam asks, crossing his arms on the roof of the Impala and watching Cas stomp around the path.

“How should I know. We may have known him for years, but he’s still a mysterious angel.” Dean leans against the driver-side door, glancing at Sam.

Sam smirks. “Dude, you know him way better than anyone else does.”

Dean huffs. “He don’t tell me shit.”

Sam cocks his head. “Dean, we’ve been over this before. You two ‘share a more profound bond.’ He answers every time you call. He tells you way more than he tells me. He follows you around like a puppy. And don’t get me started on the eye sex.”

Dean chokes on air. “The _what_?” Where the hell did Sammy get an idea like that? There is _no_ eye sex. What even is eye sex? At the most, there is eye pining from Dean. Cas just has his normal intense stare he gives everyone.

Sam waves a dismissive hand. “Point is, if anyone was going to know what was wrong with him, it’d be you.”

“Well, newsflash, I don’t. He’s being a big baby and won’t tell me a damn thing.” Cas rounds the bend back to the car. “Feeling better yet, sunshine?” Dean calls to him.

Cas huffs. “No. And don’t call me sunshine.”

Dean sweeps a hand toward the path in front of the angel. “Then keep walkin’.”

Cas glares but keeps going. He does another three laps before Dean finally gives up and lets him back in the car. He complains for the first ten minutes of the ride, then goes silent. After a few minutes, Dean looks in the mirror to see him passed out in the back seat.

“Awww, we finally tuckered the little guy out,” he says, nudging Sam to look behind him.

Sam frowns. “Since when does a fully charged Cas sleep? Is he losing his grace again?”

Dean thinks a minute. “Huh. I mean, I’ve been making him nap when he gets extra cranky lately, but yeah, he doesn’t usually just conk out on his own.”

Sam laughs. “You make him take naps?”

“Toddler, remember?”

“But he doesn’t need sleep.”

“He doesn’t need to eat either, but he does that sometimes. You know he randomly does human shit just ‘cause.” He can feel Sam staring at the side of his head, and he tries not to fidget. “What?”

“He only does that around you.”

“What? No.”

“Uh, yeah. If it’s just me and him, he doesn’t eat, he doesn’t talk just to talk, he definitely doesn’t sleep. He just does the angel stare or reads. Usually, he wanders off to find you, especially these last few weeks.”

Dean forces a chuckle. Sam has got to be lying. Cas may have the weird angel vibe still, but he acts plenty human too. And not just around him. Dean has come into rooms to see Cas talking to other people. He smiles and shrugs, he drinks coffee. He has a room at the bunker. He nerds out over books and documentaries. He tells terrible jokes. “Whatever,” he says.

Sam shakes his head. “Anyway, so you have no idea what’s bothering him.”

“Do you think I’d be getting all up on his ass if I did?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Sam looks slightly nauseous.

“What? No, not like that. Ew.”

“I’m just saying. You use the word ‘ass’ a _lot_ in reference to him.”

“You’re a fucking twelve-year-old.”

Sam sighs. “Fine. Whatever. Just, maybe talk to him? I’m getting worried.”

Dean mirrors the sigh. It’s annoying being the older, responsible one sometimes. “Yeah. I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omggggg, I adore grumpy Cas. So. Much. I hope I’m doing him justice, because he’s the best. I hope you’re enjoying him too.
> 
> Also, I want to know if Cas’s Star Wars knowledge is from Dean forcing him to memorize the stuff or if it’s from the Metatron infodump. Yes, this is my fic, and yet I don’t know the answer to that question. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> If you have something to say, drop me a comment here or come babble excitedly at me on Tumblr [@vateacancameos](http://vateacancameos.tumblr.com/).


	2. What Castiel Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas isn't sure what's happening to him, but he knows he loves the bunker ~~and Dean~~

The thing is, Castiel _loves_ the bunker. It’s come to represent a safe space over the last few years, a place where he can take a few breaths to prepare for the next terrible thing. More than that, it’s home, where his family is. After years of Dean and Sam telling him that, he finally believes it. He thinks it’s being given his very own room that clinches it. He doesn’t sleep, so he doesn’t need a bedroom. He doesn’t really own much in the way of clothes or mementos, and the few he does have, he can store in the ether. But still, one day a few weeks after Castiel stopped leaving the bunker, Dean had proudly led him to one of the guest rooms and said it was his now. When Castiel had protested, Dean had shrugged. “Everyone needs a space to call their own,” he’d said, looking at the ground and sticking his hands in his pockets. “To, you know, put their favorite things in. Relax. Sleep.”

“I don’t sleep,” Castiel had responded, but he’d really been thinking, _Can I put you in there?_ From the beginning of their acquaintance, Castiel has wanted to envelop Dean Winchester in bubble wrap (well, something cushiony at least, he didn’t know what bubble wrap was back then) and keep him safe from the dangerous world. He thinks that was the start of his rebellion. Even thinking something like that about the man God had chosen to save the world was probably blasphemy. It was selfish. Just because he’d marked the man with his handprint didn’t make him Castiel’s personal human. Except that it did. He had felt their bond from the moment he’d touched Dean’s beautiful, bright soul, tattered from his time in hell but still inexplicably strong and imperfectly perfect.

He had avoided spewing all of this to Dean, who doesn’t handle emotional overtures terribly well; Sam calls it a combination of toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia, and Castiel has to agree after he’s researched the terms. So he’d graciously accepted the room, taking it for the token of familial love it was.

And Dean was right, it’s nice to have a place to call his own. He keeps his few possessions on the shelf and bedside table. It’s nice seeing them, instead of having them hidden away until they’re needed. Now, he can pick them up, run his fingers over them, turn them over in his hands, and let himself think about why he keeps them. He places his new laptop neatly on his desk, along with a framed picture of him, Dean, and Sam. He keeps his favorite books on the shelf above the bed. He places his few extra clothes that he’s picked up over the years in the dresser. He has a special drawer in his bedside table just for the mixtapes Dean’s given to him, along with an ancient Walkman to listen to them with. And on the door, he’d sticks a carefully crafted sign that reads “Castiel’s room – Do not enter.” He’s seen it on people’s bedroom doors in movies, and he likes it. Dean had said it was his space, and he wants to make sure everyone knows that. Sam had looked confused the first time he noticed it and told him only kids did that, but Dean had slung an arm over Castiel’s shoulder and said that it was charmingly human and that he liked it, so Castiel didn’t take it down. And now when he sees the sign, he remembers the warmth he felt from Dean’s arm around him, and that soft, fond smile on his face—so rare these days, and all the more precious for it.

And in gaining his own room, Castiel feels safer at the bunker than anywhere else. So it’s strange when he starts feeling restless and irritable. Does it mean he doesn’t want to be at the bunker? Doesn’t want to be with his new family? He was made to be a soldier after all, and the last few years haven’t allowed him much time to just sit and relax. He doesn’t like the thought, because he knows he _does_ enjoy this break they’re having. He enjoys sitting at the breakfast table as Dean shovels food in his mouth (though he could stand to chew with his mouth closed). He enjoys quiet afternoons in the library with Sam and a good book. He even enjoys watching those inane action movies, because he knows how much Dean enjoys them.

So why does everything at the bunker suddenly irritate him? Dean and Sam are far from perfect, and they’ve always done things that annoy Castiel, but now it’s every little thing. Every open-mouthed smacking of food, every ‘well, actually’ from Sam, every loud guffaw, just _everything_. He thinks about leaving, but he can’t make himself do it. As much as the Winchesters aggravate him these days, he’d miss them more if he left. Besides, where would he go? Things may be calm, but that doesn’t mean he’d be welcome in Heaven or with his brothers and sisters. And now that Castiel has a real place to call home, he doesn’t want to leave. So he stays and just quarrels with Dean—and Sam, to a much lesser extent—constantly.

He’s relieved to have a case to focus on, but getting there is a trial. He feels cramped in the small backseat space, and his shirt is rough on his skin, and the sun is too hot. But he squirms when Dean suggests he make his own way there. The thought of being so far from Dean for any protracted length of time makes him want to curl up in a ball.

And that’s a strange thought. He does enjoy being around Dean and Sam, and he’s always very happy to see them after some time apart, but he also enjoys being alone sometimes. He likes silence, time to think and be. He’s an independent being with his own interests and needs. He is capable of operating a vehicle and enjoys drives by himself. So why does the thought of being away from Dean for only a few hours fill him with anxiety?

He avoids the thought and watches the fields flash by out of the window. Watching the scenery is soothing, usually. Meditative. He can ordinarily tune out the Winchesters’ talk and Dean’s music du jour and allow it to become background noise to think by. It makes him happy and feel a part of something. But today—or for the last few weeks to be honest—every noise and touch maddens him to no end. The men’s voices are grating, the car rumbles under him in a way that makes his skin crawl, the music beats atonally against his ear drums. Even the Legos rattling in the vent, a sound that’s good for at least one fond smile, bother him.

When he finally manages to distance himself from it all, it apparently sends him to sleep, because the next thing he knows, Dean is crouching outside the open car door, shaking Castiel’s knee and saying something. He opens his eyes to see a small, fond smile on his best friend’s face, and it makes him smile in return. If this is what he saw every time he woke, he’d be more inclined to sleep, he thinks groggily.

Dean raises an eyebrow like he’s waiting for an answer, and Castiel rubs his eyes and asks “Hmm?”

Dean chuckles. “Okay, sleeping beauty. I think you need some coffee. Let’s get you inside.”

He straightens up and holds out a hand. Castiel takes it tentatively, not used to such a gesture. He likes it, though, so he doesn’t question it. Dean pulls him out of the car and stays in place as Castiel stretches and orients himself. He wonders when Dean stopped caring about the lack of space between them, but again, he doesn’t question it. And for the first time in weeks, he feels calm, relaxed. He smiles up at Dean, whose eyes are soft and bracketed by the crow’s feet Castiel loves.

“You doin’ okay there, buddy?” Dean asks quietly, staring at him with concern.

“I’m doing just fine, Dean.” Castiel closes the car door. “The nap was very relaxing.”

“Well, that’s good to hear, but, um, why’d you fall asleep to begin with?”

“I _am_ capable of sleeping,” Castiel protests, but a small part of his mind is also worrying over this fact. Just because he’s _capable_ sleep doesn’t mean he can do so without great effort. It’s never as natural as it was today.

Dean echoes the thought. “Just because you can doesn’t mean you do. Not unless I’m on your grumpy ass, practically shoving you in a bed.”

Castiel shrugs, and the irritation that the nap had erased comes creeping back in, crawling up his spine in an almost physical way. “I was bored. And your voice was annoying me.”

Dean looks hurt by this, but he doesn’t comment. He just jerks his head toward the motel they’re stood in front of. “Time’s a-wastin’. Witnesses to interview, monsters to research.” He hikes the strap of his overnight bag up his shoulder and leads the way to the room.

Within fifteen minutes, they’re leaving again to do interviews. They split up, because there have been fifteen disappearances in fifteen days, and time is against them. Castiel has grown comfortable with interviewing over the years. He knows he still overlooks idioms and obvious references to human culture, but it’s subdued enough that most people simply think he doesn’t get out much. Which is true enough. Today, though, he has trouble concentrating. The texture of his clothes still bothers him, and he feels like he’s standing in front of a heater on a summer day. He wishes Dean were here, or even Sam, anyone familiar. He wishes he were at the bunker, hiding in his room or watching a movie with his family. The voices of the interviewees chafe at his eardrums, and they all say nothing but inane things. He sighs in relief when he’s finally done, and he makes his way to the motel.

Sam and Dean are already back, and they’ve had time to change into comfortable clothes. Empty food containers litter the table, and they’ve got books and papers spread out around them—Sam at the small table and Dean on one of the beds. Castiel drops the coat and suit jacket he shed three interviews back on the bed and slumps down in front of Dean, who looks up at him in surprise. It feels _so nice_ to be back.

“Um, you okay there, dude?” Dean asks, peering at him with narrowed eyes.

“Humans are annoying,” is what comes out, even though Castiel had wanted to say how good it is to see them. He’d been in neighborhoods with the houses that all look exactly alike and were too clean on the inside, and everyone was fake polite, and it reminds him of Heaven, which is the last place he wants to be reminded of. But this motel room is closer to what home feels like. No, being near Dean is what makes it feel like home. Why he doesn’t say that, he doesn’t know. Probably because he doesn’t want to deal with Dean getting his hackles up over such an emotional statement. He can’t cope with that right now. He just wants to relax. He loosens his tie and unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt.

Dean points accusingly at Castiel, his shoulders tense. “Okay, no. This, this is _not_ normal. You don’t sleep. You don’t complain about small spaces. You don’t ever take off that fucking coat, even when you should. What the _hell_ is going on, man?”

Castiel freezes his movements, partially in defense and partially with worry. He doesn’t _know_. And he hates that he doesn’t know.

“Are you …” Dean begins softly. “Are you losing your grace again?” His eyebrows are furrowed and his lips pursed.

Castiel looks over to Sam, who is studying him carefully with a similar expression of worry. He assesses his body and grace. No, he still feels his connection to Heaven and the Angelic Host. Angel radio—which he mostly tunes out these days—still works just fine. He reaches out and taps Dean’s forehead to rid him of the headache he knows he has by the way he squints one eye, and his brow smooths in relief.

“No, I am still connected to the Host and have full use of my abilities. I’m just frustrated,” Castiel says in half explanation. “No one said anything remotely helpful, and at the last home, a child screeched the entire time I was there.”

Dean leans back and lifts a corner of his mouth like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “I reckon that’d annoy anyone. But that doesn’t explain the sleeping or you shedding clothes like a stripper.”

Sam chokes off a laugh, and Castiel feels his face heat for some reason.

“Perhaps it is simply my prolonged time spent on Earth. I am interacting with the world in a more human way now. Few angels linger on this plane, and I’ve never exactly had the time to ask, ‘Hey Gabriel, did you start acting more human after your first decade on Earth?’ at the watercooler.” He rolls his eyes.

Sam smirks. “I guess not,” he says. “Nice reference, by the way.”

Castiel straightens up a bit. “Thank you.” He likes it when he says something right. He doesn’t mind being different, but he doesn’t care to stick out like a sore thumb either. What an odd phrase, _stick out like a sore thumb_. He’ll have to Google that sometime.

Dean grunts. “Well, we’ll keep an eye on ya. You feeling okay to go over what we’ve learned so far?”

Castiel nods, and they spend the next few hours talking about the interviews and scouring books, coming no closer to figuring out which being is taking people. Castiel is ready to chuck the book he’s reading across the room and then tear off his itchy shirt. How has he never noticed how coarse and confining it is? It makes his skin crawl, a phrase he never understood before a few days ago. Now it makes perfect sense, and that concerns him. If he’s not losing his grace, what _is_ wrong with him? Is it just that he’s taken on more human characteristics from spending extended time on Earth? Or is it something else? Something worrying. Something dangerous.

Dean interrupts his thoughts by shoving some clothes in his face. Castiel leans back and stares first at the bundle, then up at Dean.

Dean rolls his eyes. “You’re making me antsy. Go take a shower and then put these on.”

Castiel takes them cautiously. It’s a black Rush shirt and a pair of soft, gray sleep pants. They’re Dean’s. He looks back up at Dean. “I don’t need to shower or change clothes.”

“Yeah, well, until we figure out what’s going on, that will have to do. I can’t watch you squirm anymore.”

Castiel has to admit that a shower and a change of clothes sound appealing, whether he actually needs them or not. He remembers liking long, hot showers when he’d lost his grace before. The sound of the water and the steamy heat muffled the rest of the world and let him just _be_ for a few minutes. He nods and heads to the bathroom.

He ignores the little thrill that goes through him from Dean showing concern and care for him. It’s just a friendly thing to do. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas in Dean’s clothes. Am I right or am I right?


	3. What Sam Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which TFW works on the case, Cas continues to act strange, and Sam is so fucking tired of Dean and Cas's shit

Sam shares a concerned glance with his brother after the bathroom door clicks shut, but he relaxes a little when he hears the shower start up. Cas is really freaking him out, but at least he’s stopped being so stubborn about listening to Dean. He’d looked so drained, so pale, when he’d returned from his interviews. And when they’d asked him why it’d taken so long, Cas had said he’d had trouble concentrating during the interviews.

“Any ideas?” Dean asks him, worry clear on his face.

Sam shakes his head helplessly. “If his grace is fine, I have no idea what it could be. A spell maybe? Some sort of angel kryptonite we’re not aware of?” he wracks his brain for other options, and none of them sound appealing.

“Maybe. Or some pissed off angel out for revenge?” Dean offers, looking no happier with any of the options.

Sam had noticed Cas and Dean sniping at each other more than usual starting a few weeks back, but he’d thought it was either avoidance of the sexual tension that the two were intent on ignoring or irritability at being stuck at the bunker without anything to do. But then Sam had noticed the little twitches Cas does when he sits still for more than a few minutes, and the way he hunches his shoulders when Dean and Sam’s voices get above a whisper, and the way that he’s become so clingy, especially with Dean. It’s more than chafing at inactivity. He’d started looking for a case so that he could see what happened once Cas had something to do besides mope around the bunker. If his complaints about the backseat weren’t enough, the nap for the second half of the drive sealed it. And now his clothes and distraction. Something is really wrong with Cas. He wonders if they’d be better off giving the case to another hunter and going back to the bunker to focus on researching angels.

And the thought pisses Sam off. Why can’t they ever get a break? They’d never asked for any of this. And even though they wouldn’t even know Cas without getting involved in the (first) apocalypse, he’s still annoyed that the big players can’t seem to kick up a fuss without dragging the Winchester family into it. He longs for those days when all they had to worry about was the latest ghost or harvest god. And he’d thought they were maybe getting back to that, but with Cas acting strange … that’s unlikely.

“Should we drop the hunt?” he asks, voicing his thoughts to Dean. His brother might not always be the most strategic thinker in the room, but he knows the most about their angel, and he should be the one to make the call. Then again, maybe he’s too close to make a good call.

Sam has watched the two dance around each other for years, moving closer together and farther apart as various allegiances were formed and events unfolded, but always still circling. Sam had wished that with this latest bout of quiet, they’d finally do something about it. Cas choosing to stay at the bunker, and Dean making an effort to show he wants the angel to stay, had initially given Sam hope. But all they’ve done for the last few weeks is alternately fight with and cling to each other. It’s getting on his nerves and making him nearly as snippy as his housemates. He wonders, not for the first time, if he could lock them in an angel trapped room until they finally give in to their desires. It’s something to keep in mind at least.

“I dunno,” Dean says, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “I think I’m gonna have to be the mature one for once and say it’s not up to us to decide. And if we even bring the idea up to him, he’ll probably go all bull-headed and insist we keep working the job. But maybe …” he sighs, “maybe not pick up another one after this? I don’t like the idea of him passing out during a fight or something.”

“Yeah,” Sam nods in agreement, “I think you’re right. I’ll start researching angel lore after we get back to the bunker. Until then, I guess we just keep an eye on him?”

Dean shrugs in defeat. “Yeah, I guess.”

They agree to watch the angel, and several days pass with no break in the case and with Cas getting neither better nor worse. The bickering gets to be too much three days in, and Sam orders Dean to take a drive and Castiel a walk, leaving him to blessed silence. They’ve continued to lose a person a night to whatever they’re hunting, with zero clues other than that the perp seems to be working their way in an inward spiral around the Kansas City metro area. They’d started out in the eastern Missouri area and had worked counterclockwise, landing most recently just north of the Mississippi River. They’d be in the center soon, and then what? Was it a ritual? Why did they kidnap so many people? Why was there no struggle? It was like someone was pied pipering people out of their beds … The thought brings his mind to a screeching halt. Of course.

He texts the others, and when Dean arrives a few minutes after Cas, Sam has researched enough to develop at least a basic theory.

“The Pied Piper of Hamelin,” he says, turning his laptop around for the others to see.

Dean furrows his brow. “Isn’t that a fairy tale or a kids’ song or something?”

“No, it’s a tale that began during the plague years,” Cas argues. “But rats have nothing to do with this case.”

“No, but,” Sam says with a finger raised, “people are disappearing from their homes with no struggle. I checked it out, and it’s actually a sorta common theme throughout history, all over the world. And every time it’s happened, the city in question has been in the midst of some sort of turmoil—plagues, struggling infrastructure, siege, blight. Only the Hamelin case has been _specifically_ linked with a person being asked to help out, and when the city reneges on the agreement after its fixed, then people start disappearing. But, in at least three other cases, there has been a person who threw a stink when the leaders refused to pay up for some sort of services given.”

Still looking disbelieving, Dean speaks up. “Okay, but this place isn’t having issues. No buildings falling apart, no famine, the plants all look okay.”

“Except that’s not true.” Sam peeks over the screen still turned to face Dean and Cas and selects another tab in his browser. The headline that pops up reads “City Breaks Deal with Contractor Tasked with Upgrading the Metro Area’s Sewer System.” He scrolls down a bit so they can read the first part of the article. “Apparently the system is starting to cause noxious gases. I’d noticed the smell a few times, and I thought it was a localized problem, but it’s the whole metro area.”

Sam sees the light dawn in Cas’s and Dean’s eyes.

“So we’re dealing with a pied piper?” Dean’s brows furrow. “What even _is_ a pied piper? What does pie have to do with it?”

“Pied is an old word for multicolored, it derives from the same root as magpie, from the Latin,” Cas explains, and for once, he doesn’t seem annoyed. Sam has noticed that any time the two of them are separated, Cas is initially happy to see Dean again. He wonders if there’s a link from the spell—or whatever has a hold of Cas—to Dean, or if it’s just Cas’s instinct to feel most comfortable around Dean. Either is just as likely. He’s keeping a list of questions to research once they’re done with this hunt.

And because Cas is calm, so is Dean. He grins soppily at Cas (and how does he not realize how ridiculously _gone_ on Cas he is?) and nudges him with his shoulder. “That’s my nerd.”

Cas looks quietly pleased for a moment before looking back to Sam. “Are you thinking a local protective god?”

Sam shrugs. “It’s a possibility. Or some other magical being that likes wandering from town to town helping people out but gets annoyed when he’s not paid? Is there any creature that has hypnotic abilities that fit the M.O.?”

Cas shrugs. “Several. That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“We’ve got a few more books in the car that might have something,” Sam offers, “and I can do my usual internet checks.”

Dean groans. “I’m gonna need some coffee. Wanna come, Cas?” The angel agrees, and Sam is left in peaceful silence again.

They’re arguing when they return just over ten minutes later, and Sam sighs, throws on his headphones, and gets back to researching. When he turns off his music an hour or so later, the room is quiet, and only Dean is there. Sam’s about to ask where Cas bopped off to when he realizes the shower is running.

“Another shower?” he asks, concerned.

Dean shrugs. “It seems to be the only thing that relaxes him. I’m waiting for the motel to complain that they’re out of hot water. Dude was in there for an _hour_ last night, and he’s been in there for at least forty minutes today.”

As if conjured, the bathroom door opens, and warm steam rolls out. Cas emerges with his hair plastered to his head, water dripping onto Dean’s Rush shirt.

“Hey, I bought you your own pajamas, man. Those are mine,” Dean accuses, pointing at the offending clothes.

Cas pouts. “Those irritate my skin and smell strange. I like these.” He stomps over to the opposite side of the bed from where Dean is sprawled and crawls under the covers.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, voice higher than usual.

Sam stifles a laugh. He kind of loves how Cas can rile him up without even trying. And anything that pushes at Dean’s distorted ideas of masculinity is a win in Sam’s book.

Cas wraps the sheets around himself like a cocoon, burying even his head under them. “Sleeping,” is his muffled response.

“In _my_ bed?” Dean’s voice is even higher now. “You- You’re getting the pillow all wet. And you took all the sheets.”

Cas growls but says nothing.

Dean stares in a hilarious mix of horror, confusion, panic, and annoyance. “Come on, man,” he mutters, burying his face back in the book he was reading earlier. “So messed up,” Sam thinks he hears him add to himself.

Sam stays out of it. Dean has been in lowkey gay panic mode for years, and it’s kind of funny watching it really kick into gear. Of course, it’s also really tragic, how deeply he’s buried it all—his feelings in general, his interest in men, his preoccupation with Cas—and Sam hopes again that something will finally change. He doesn’t think Cas will ever make a move unless he knows Dean has finally come to grips with it all, but if Dean is left to his own devices, he may never get there. That angel-trapped locked room is sounding more and more appealing. But before then, they need to figure out what’s wrong with Cas, and before _that_ , they need to catch this pied piper person. Sam goes back to his own reading. They need to solve this soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me making a lazy effort at a case fic while also making Sam watch these two idiots pine a lot.
> 
> Much more exciting: A CAS BURRITO IN DEAN’S BED.


	4. What Dean Feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is spooning, sort of coming out of the closet, and the conclusion of the case

Dean wakes to an intense heat, like someone filled a blow-up doll with hot water and placed it behind him. He’s on his left side, facing the motel door, and his arm hangs off the edge of the bed. Something has him locked in place like a hot band around his waist. He tenses when he feels warm air on the back of his neck. He tries to remember last night.

Cas had thrown a snit, forcing Dean to yell at him until he went to take a shower. He’d taken Dean’s pajamas, then made himself into a cranky angel burrito wrapped in motel sheets. Dean had researched until about midnight, when the words started swimming. After trying and failing to get Cas to budge— _in Dean’s own bed_ , no less—he’d gotten more bedding from the front desk and made his own sleeping spot on the far side of the bed. It’d taken an hour of tossing and turning to finally fall asleep. And now, here he is, being held captive by a human-shaped heater. The realization that it’s Cas causes his heart to beat triple time, though whether in panic or excitement, he’s not sure. Probably both. He’s fucked up like that.

He tries to wriggle free, and there’s a whiny moan at his ear that confirms two things: that it’s definitely Cas who is spooning him, and that there’s definitely at least some excitement thrumming through his own body. He practically shoots out of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor. He scrambles up, grabs his bag, and hightails it for the bathroom, not even looking to see if Sam is around to notice either the cuddling or Dean’s freak out. He drops his bag and scrubs his face with his hands before leaning over the sink to stare at his reflection in the mirror.

Panicked eyes – check, bed head – check, flushed face – check, hard dick – fuck. He strips and jumps under the coldest water he can stand while he gives himself a pep talk. He can’t do this. This is _Cas_ , his best friend and a fucking _angel_. And while he knows that angels in general and Cas in particular are capable of feeling and acting on sexual attraction, and he’s ninety-nine percent sure gender is not a deciding factor for them, it’s just not like that between him and Cas.

Well, Cas, at least, doesn’t feel those things for Dean. Dean’s own feelings for his best friend are a little more complicated. Okay, fine, they’re like every single drama-filled romantic plot on _Dr. Sexy_ combined—most definitely including that season-long arc where one of the attendings had to face their closeted sexuality and internalized homophobia head on, and boy howdy had that made for some _very_ uncomfortable nights in Dean’s own head—but he’s always been determined to shove his feelings for Cas as far down as he can. And his own fucked-up relationship with his sexuality has only played a small part in that choice. It’s more about not wanting to lose Cas. Not when they’ve already come close to losing each other so many times. If Cas doesn’t feel the same way Dean does, which he’s eighty-six percent sure is the case, then he sure as hell isn’t gonna do something to mess up what they do have. He doesn’t ever want to deal with losing Cas for good. Every near loss they’ve already faced has been hard enough.

So he pushes it all down again. He’s got a job to focus on, and whatever is happening with Cas too. So much for some peace and quiet, huh? Dean gets out of the shower after his heart has stopped racing and his dick is back to a more comfortable position. Once he’s dressed, he heads back into the motel room, dropping his bag on the bed on his way to table where three Gas-N-Sip cups wait.

Sammy is sitting at the table already researching, and Cas barrels into the bathroom. The shower starts up.

Dean’s eyebrows go up. “Again?” he asks, dropping into the chair across from Sam. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was a fourteen-year-old boy.”

Sam shrugs and shakes his head, then gets a big grin on his face. “Especially given the way he was plastered behind you this morning.”

Dean glares at his annoying little brother. “When has the guy ever paid attention to personal space? I had no say in that.”

“I don’t know, Dean.” Sam’s voice is annoyingly sing-song-y. “You had a pretty happy smile on your face.”

He’s gotta shut this down. “Okay, no,” Dean says, pointing a finger at Sam. “You can tease me when it’s just you and me, that’s fine, but _not_ where Cas can you hear you, which is basically anywhere within a mile. He can’t know.”

The teasing grin drops from Sam’s face. “Know … holy shit. Have you finally admitted to yourself your feelings for Cas?”

Dean’s mouth gapes like a fish, and his face feels like a furnace. One, holy shit, did he just accidentally out himself to his baby brother? And two, Sammy already _knew_? He drops his face onto the table. “Just … shut up, okay?”

Sam grunts. “Fine, but we _are_ talking about this later.”

Dean groans but doesn’t move from his spot. He manages to get himself under control by the time Cas emerges from the steamy bathroom over half an hour later, _wearing Dean’s clothes_ , which undoes every inch of self-control he’s managed to scrape together. Fuck.

He covers up his salivating with a protest. “Hey, no. Those are my clothes. Where’s your suit?” Dean can’t believe he’s actually fighting for that stupid get-up, but he can’t deal with seeing the being he’s been pining over for approximately a thousand years wearing his clothes. It makes a possessive monster crawl up into his chest, and he really can’t have that right now. Or ever.

“I don’t like how it feels,” Cas whines. “It’s irritating and hot.”

“Then we’ll go and buy you something else to wear.”

“No.”

Cas drops into the chair Dean has just vacated and grabs the closest coffee cup, which happens to be Dean’s. Which, Dean supposes, works in his favor, because now he has the last, still full, cup, and he really needs the extra caffeine. He can feel the headache forming already.

Cas continues. “I didn’t like the pajamas you bought yesterday, so I won’t like anything else. Your clothes are soft, and they smell like you.” Cas’s eyes widen comically, as if he didn’t mean to say that.

Dean’s face heats again. What does that even mean? Is it just a family familiarity thing? Or does he specifically like the way Dean smells? And if it’s the latter, is that just a personal preference for certain scents, or is there a specific reason Cas likes Dean’s scent in particular? Dean has no clue what to do with that, so he ignores it, kicking Sammy’s chair when he gets that maddeningly sly little brother expression on his face.

“Fine. Whatever. Let’s just, um, you know, uh, breakfast?” Well. that came out great. Dean grabs his keys and heads for the door, not looking to see if he’s being followed. Breakfast by himself might be a good idea anyway.

Sadly, Sam and Cas climb into the Impala as Dean turns the engine. Apparently Sam has pity on them both, because he keeps up a steady chatter of his latest research all the way to the diner and through breakfast. They narrow the perp down to a few minor protective gods and a couple of species with hypnotizing abilities. By the time they get back to the room, things feel as normal as they can these days.

Dean’s searching through the huge pile of bed sheets and blankets on his (and Cas’s?!?) bed to find his notepad when something pokes his hand. He pulls away a bedsheet to find a dark chocolate brown feather, larger than any feather he’s ever seen; it’s gotta be almost as long as his arm. When he picks it up, he notices a rainbow sheen to it, like a shimmery powder.

“What the hell,” he mumbles to himself, but it’s plucked from his fingers before he can look more. He glances up to see Cas stuffing it into his trench coat that’s crumpled on the floor. He connects the dots. “Cas? Is that your feather?”

Cas stands and nods, his face beet red.

“I thought angel wings couldn’t be seen by humans.”

“When they are no longer connected to an angel, they lose the grace that holds them on the astral plane and can then appear to human perception.”

“Oh?” Dean glances at Sam, who shrugs. Then he frowns, realizing something. “Then how come we don’t see a whole pile of feathers when an angel dies? They’d lose their grace once the angel is dead, right?”

“You _do_ see them. The blast that accompanies an angel’s death completely charrs all of the feathers. The black, wing-shaped outline you see is the ashes from the feathers.”

“Oh shit. Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

Before Dean can think on it further, Cas clears his throat. “I’m going to scan the city.”

He’s through the door before Dean can argue, and Dean goes straight for the coat he left behind. He pulls the feather back out and studies it, and Sam comes over to do the same.

“Wow, so he’s losing feathers now? Maybe he _is_ losing his grace again?” Sam runs a finger up the feather, and the rainbow shimmer follows the movement as light glances off it.

Dean sighs. “I dunno. Maybe? Or, maybe, after all this time, Earth is finally affecting him physically, not just emotionally.” He doesn’t really know what to think, and he hates that his hands are tied for now. They need to hurry up and catch this pied whatever before they disappear the entire city. Then they can focus on what’s going on with Cas.

***

The fucker snatching people ends up being a minor protection deity who settles in a place and helps it out until something goes FUBAR and he gets mad. Then he takes a whole bunch of people and moves on to the next town. Apparently, he needs the connection from a current group of people before he can form a new one in a new town, hence the kidnapping before he moves on. He zaps them with some hypno-whatever, and they become his adoring public in his new home. Pretty fucked up, if you ask Dean, but he won’t be a problem anymore. They take him out with a stake formed from a tree of his homeland (aka, Kansas City) and are back at the motel by midnight, covered in god goo (ew).

Dean and Sam make Cas go last in the shower. Sam is already passed out by the time Dean finishes cleaning up, and he crawls under the covers while Cas shuts himself in the bathroom. He tries to make himself fall asleep before Cas gets back, which shouldn’t be hard given how long the dude spends under a showerhead these days, but twenty minutes later, he’s still restless and twitchy. It’s always been hard for him to fall asleep after a hunt, but he’d been really hoping for a miracle this time. If he can avoid being awake, then he won’t be forced to lodge a protest when Cas crawls into his bed later. And he has to protest, because … well, because he _has_ to. It’s not a done thing, male best friends sharing a bed. And _cuddling_. _Spooning_. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about that all day. Does he want it? Of course he does. He’s a red-blooded guy who just happens to be addicted to a certain angel’s presence, but no one else has to know that. Except apparently Sam, who’s too smart for his own good, the little fucker. And now Dean’s wishing for some apocalyptic event so he can go back to avoiding the whole idea completely. Except they can’t have that, because they really, really need to figure out what’s wrong with Cas before something bad happens to him.

He’s still thinking these conflicting thoughts when he hears the water shut off. He tries to arrange himself so that he at least appears to be asleep, which never works. He always needs to scratch something anytime he pretends to be sleeping. At least the light is off, and Cas shuts off the bathroom light before opening the door, so he has a chance of hiding his consciousness.

A moment later, the other side of the bed dips as Cas crawls under the covers. At least with the extra set Dean had to get last night, they’re not sharing blankets, which makes it slightly less weird. Except that he’s ~~excited~~ terrified that, come morning, they’ll end up the same way they had this morning. Or worse. What if _he’s_ the one spooning Cas? Sam’ll never let him live that down.

Cas keeps to his side, wrapping himself up like a burrito the same as he’d done the night before. He sighs and wriggles. A few minutes later, he wriggles again. And again.

“What the actual fuck, Cas?” Dean explodes in a stage whisper after the tenth wriggle. “Stop moving.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It hurts.” Cas’s voice isn’t the usual recent petulance. Now he sounds frustrated, almost to tears.

Dean sits up in alarm. “What’s wrong? What hurts?”

“ _Everything_.”

Dean turns to study the angel in his bed through the gloom. Cas’s face peeks out of the top of his wrap. Other than the crumpled expression, he looks okay. No blood, sweat, or anything noticeable by moonlight. He unwraps the blankets, then feels Cas’s forehead. It’s a bit warm, but he seems to run hotter than a human anyway. Cas hums at the touch. Dean pulls back, thinking he’s made it worse, but he sees his sad frown when the contact is broken.

“That help?” Dean asks quietly, putting his hand back, sweeping it soothingly through Cas’s (soft, so soft) hair.

Cas’s hum seems to indicate yes, so Dean holds the contact.

“What’s wrong? What do you mean it all hurts?”

“My whole body aches, and it feels like insects are crawling under my skin.”

“Yuck,” Dean says sympathetically. “Sounds kinda like the flu.” He pauses. “Can you get the flu? Is there an angel flu?”

Cas shrugs, then moves his head like a cat when Dean stops petting him. Dean rolls his eyes. “Come on, you big baby.” He lays them both back down, with Cas’s body turn toward him on his side. He cradles Cas’s head against his chest with one hand and uses the other to sweep down his back. His heart is pounding as he does it, but his need to make Cas feel better trumps any fear or discomfort.

“This is nice,” Cas whispers a few minutes later. “It helps a little.”

“Hmm,” Dean hums. “I used to rub Sammy’s back when he got sick as a kid. I dunno that it actually helps anything, but I guess the contact can be comforting.”

“It is.”

“Still no idea what might be causing this?”

“No,” Cas sighs into Dean’s neck, who steels himself not to react. _Not_ the time.

“Well, let’s see. You’ve turned into Grumpy Cat, rough textures irritate your skin, you’re achy, and you’re losing feathers.” He adds the last as he picks up a new feather lying behind Cas’s back. This one is mangled and charred. Cas has been grounded so long that Dean’d forgotten that it had affected the actual manifestation of his wings too. He thinks back to the times he’s seen the mangled projections after the Fall caused by Metatron, and it makes his heart hurt all over again. Cas is more than his wings, of course, but they were such a big part of who he had been for thousands of years that Dean knows it still must bother him. “You’ve never heard of another angel going through this at all?”

“Yes, Dean, I’ve heard of it a lot. I’m just hiding that information to annoy you.”

Dean pokes him with a finger before rubbing his back again. “Okay, Sarcastic Sally. No need for the ‘tude. I’m trying to help you.”

Cas grumbles a bit before finding actual words. “No, this has never happened before that I’m aware of. But with so few angels being so permanently located on Earth, it’s hard to say. Add in the Fall … and who knows, this might be happening to the few remaining earthbound angels too. We don’t exactly WhatsApp each other the latest on our lives.”

It still gets Dean when Cas references pop culture. Not so much movies and books that he knows about from Metatron’s infodump, but technology, modern music, and whatnot. Yeah, that’s weird. He smiles into Cas’s temple. “What about angel radio?”

Cas shrugs. “I haven’ tuned in in a while. Been tryin’ to ‘gnore it as much as possible.” He’s starting to slur just a bit, and Dean hopes he’s just falling asleep. One new symptom a day is more than enough. Cas is quiet for a minute or so. “No, nothin’ on angel radio.”

“Hmm. But they’re all up in Heaven, right?”

“Mmm. For the most part, yeah.” The words are slow and quiet.

“Okay, we’ll think about it tomorrow. You just get some sleep, okay?”

“Mhmm.”

There’s a quiet snore at the end of the syllable, and Dean grins. He presses his lips to Cas’s temple. It’s not quite a kiss. But it’s not _not_ one either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the snuggles, y’all! It’s funny that even though I like bedsharing fics, I rarely write about the subject. It was fun doing it here.
> 
> Also, has Dean finally manned up, or is this a one-night-only thing? Tune in next time to find out …


	5. What Castiel Feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas wakes up happy, the gang heads back to the bunker, and Dean spoils his angel just a bit

Castiel wakes feeling completely relaxed, which is apparently a thing now. He’d felt much the same when he’d woken yesterday, in the three seconds before Dean bolted from the bed like it was filled with bees (or just Castiel). The thought makes him frown, and he banishes it. No unhappy thoughts right now, not when he feels so nice. He knows that it’s Dean pressed up against him that makes him feel so safe and warm. He tells himself he can have five more seconds to soak up the feeling before he pulls away, but before he can move, there’s a rumble under his ear, which is apparently pressed on top of Dean’s chest.

“Grumpy pants already, huh? You’re barely awake. Can’t you wait a few?”

Castiel’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Dean isn’t freaking out, so Castiel must be sleeping still. He sinks back into it, wanting to float on the feeling as long as he can. When he wakes, Dean will be annoyed, and Castiel will be uncomfortable in his own skin again. Something soothing sweeps up his back, and he sighs contentedly.

“Yeah, that’s better.”

A breath of air tickles Castiel’s ear, and he swats at it. The movement makes him realize he’s not sleeping. He takes note of his surroundings without opening his eyes. He can hear cars on the interstate outside and water running in the bathroom sink. The slightly burned-smelling coffee scent means Sam has made a trip out for morning provisions. But still, he doesn’t open his eyes. If he’s awake, he can at least avoid reality until he opens his eyes.

“Okay, sleeping beauty. Now I know you’re awake. Open those sapphires of yours.”

The odd words, still rumbling against his ear, surprise him enough to make him do as asked. Dean gazes down at him from where he lies higher up at the head of the bed. Castiel is curled into him, and his head lies on Dean’s chest. A warm, comforting hand sweeps up his back.

“Feeling better this morning?” Dean asks softly, a small smile quirking the corners of his mouth. He looks … fond. Happy. Not the least bit scared. Castiel looks closer. No, he does look scared, but he’s pushing it down. He gives a little shrug when he sees Castiel’s gaze deepen, and his face gets pink and too complicated to read. What does it mean?

The bathroom door opens, and they both tense, but Dean doesn’t move, so Castiel doesn’t either. What does _that_ mean? He’s so confused.

He glances at Sam, who pauses a moment when he sees they’re both awake, but he doesn’t comment on their position, just gives them a soft smile. “Roll out in twenty? I brought back burritos and coffee.”

Castiel can tell Dean is still internally freaking out just a bit, but he covers it with a complaint. “Burritos? Come _on_ , Sammy. I am not dealing with your gas the whole way home.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I had a smoothie. So if there’s any gas in the car, it’s yours. Now come on, you lazy asses. I’d like to get back early enough to start researching.”

Castiel pulls (reluctantly) away from Dean’s warmth and forces himself out of bed. He frowns at Sam as he goes for one of the coffees. “What research? We solved the case.”

Sam gives him an odd look. “Umm, you, doofus.”

He feels his face scrunch. “Me?”

“Gotta figure out what’s wrong with you, buddy,” Dean adds, clapping him softly on the shoulder as he grabs his own coffee and rifles through the plastic bag for a burrito. “Fuck yeah, sausage and potato.” He rips off the top of the foil and takes a huge bite. “Shanks, Shammy,” he adds with an egg-filled grin.

Sam’s expression is disgusted, but when he glances over at Castiel again, he softens. “Yeah, man. Now that the case is over, we can go full bore on angel research. I called a few people who might have some other texts the bunker doesn’t have. They’ll let me know what they find, but in the meantime, we’ll divide and conquer the library and archives, and hopefully turn something up.

There’s a warmth in Castiel’s chest that he gets sometimes around the Winchesters, like when they call him family or Dean says “best friend” with that fond smile or they side with him against whomever they’re fighting that particular week. “Really?” he asks, not completely believing he’s worthy of the help. The Fall was partially his fault, which means he should deal with his wings on his own.

Sam nods, eyes wide, like he can’t believe Castiel. “Of course. You’re family. We’ll do everything, exhaust every avenue and then some, until we find an answer.” He pauses and scrunches his nose, then continues. “I mean, I think I’ll leave the physical comfort to Garfield here, but yeah, whatever else it takes, I’m on it.” He winks at Castiel, who feels his face heat.

Dean’s face turns tomato red as well, and he chokes on the breakfast he’s been inhaling like Garfield does lasagna, but he doesn’t say anything even after he clears his lungs. He just ducks back down and focuses on his food.

Sam grins and begins cleaning up the room.

Though he feels much better than the bone-deep ache from the night before, Castiel decides a shower is a good idea before being stuck in the car for four hours. He grabs his (Dean’s) day clothes and heads for the bathroom.

“Ten minutes, Paris Hilton. Any longer, and I’m dragging you out,” Dean calls after him.

Castiel shuts the door, not letting himself think of what it’d be like to have Dean burst in on him naked in the shower.

Sam must have a similar (though hopefully much less graphic) thought, because he teases Dean, whose incredibly intelligent comeback of “shut up, Samantha” only makes Sam laugh.

***

The car ride home is not particularly comfortable, but after a good night’s sleep and his morning shower (nine and a half minutes exactly), it’s more bearable than it might have been. Still, Castiel is fidgeting by the time they get close, and Dean has told him to stop kicking his seat three times, though he’s much less harsh than he’d been on the drive out. When they get out of the car, Sam hightails it for the library, but Dean stops Castiel with a hand as they walk through the corridors to the bedrooms.

“You doing okay?”

He opens his mouth to say yes, but Dean interrupts him. “And don’t say yes. I know you’re not.”

“Then why did you ask?”

The question stops Dean for a second, but then he says, “I guess what I meant is how are you feeling? Is it last-night bad?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No. Promise,” he adds when Dean looks at him sternly. “I feel restless and prickly, but nothing aches.”

After another look, Dean nods. “Okay. Do you need a nap or some food or anything?”

He’s about to say no but changes his mind. “Some jasmine tea would be nice.” He likes the way it smells. It’s comforting.

“One jasmine tea, coming right up. See you in the library?” Once Castiel nods, he takes off for his bedroom.

With no bag of his own, Castiel goes straight to the library. After conferring with Sam, he picks a stack of books and settles at the table with them. A short time later, Dean sits down next to him with a cup of jasmine tea, which Castiel takes gratefully. Dean gives him a little wink, then opens the closest book. Castiel’s chest and face heat at the glance, and he buries himself in the book he’s meant to be reading to hide it.

They sit in silence for a few hours. When they take a break at the end of the afternoon, Castiel goes to his room for a book on angels he left there last week. When he enters his room, the sight waiting for him stops him in his tracks. Neatly folded in a pile on the bed is the Rush shirt and flannel pajama bottoms he’d boggarted from Dean a few days ago. Next to it is a pile of six or eight brown and rainbow feathers. He sits down on the bed and runs his hand over the shirt.

What does it all mean? It’s as if a switch flipped last night, and the defensiveness that’s powered Dean’s every move for his whole life is gone. He’s stopped shying from being close to Castiel, he winks at him, he doesn’t defend himself when Sam sees them touching, and he lets Castiel keep the clothes that have brought him comfort even though they’re his favorites. He’s not a completely different man, because he’s always been caring to those around him. It’s more like he’s letting his real self out now. He’s letting Castiel and Sam finally see the real him, one hundred percent. But is it more than that? Is it just comfort, the same as he’d provide Sam if he were ill? Or is it something else, something just for Castiel?


	6. What Sam Feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam watches Dean and Cas settle into ... something and is very done with the pining

Exhausted after travel and research, they decide to spend the first evening back at the bunker vegging in front of the TV. It’s Cas’s turn to choose the program, so they end up watching _Planet Earth_ , which Dean complains about, but which Sam knows he secretly likes. When Cas enters the TV room, he’s wearing his stolen pajamas, with one of Dean’s hoodies on top.

“I’m cold,” he says defensively when Dean eyes the addition.

Dean shakes his head, but it’s with a fond look that he takes a pull on his beer and surprises everyone in the room, including probably himself, by dropping onto the loveseat rather than in one of the two recliners in front of the television. “Come on, let’s watch some animals.” His tone is gruff, but his face is still soft, and it softens further when Cas tentatively settles next to him. They smile at each other like idiots as Sam takes the recliner next to them.

He’s glad his brother has figured, or at least _is_ figuring, out his complicated issues, if for no other reason than Cas could use the comfort right now. But Sam hopes it’s not a one-time thing that stops as soon as they get Cas fixed up. He hopes it’s an impetus to push them into the relationship they’ve been avoiding for far too long. He’s ready for this dance to be over. If they can figure out what’s wrong with Cas, they might have a chance of getting back to that peace they’ve been trying to reach the last month or so, and it would be great to not have the unresolved sexual/romantic tension still hanging about.

Sam surreptitiously watches the pair through the first episode of the show. They keep a respectful amount of space between them for the first twenty minutes or so, but then Dean gets up to grab Cas a pair of socks, and when he settles back down, they’re closer together. Cas gets up ten minutes later to make more tea, and when he sits again, the space between them is gone. Sam gets up after the episode is over because he remembers a book in his room that might help them out, and when he returns, Cas’s head is on Dean’s shoulder, and his knees are tucked up against his chest as he twitches his shoulders in involuntary irritation. The next time he glances over, Dean’s arm is over Cas’s shoulder, and his hand sweeps slowly up and down Cas’s arm. Sam keeps his thoughts to himself, but he smiles down at his book. He thinks they’ll be okay.

***

Sam is ninety-nine percent sure he’s read every book on angels in the library—twice. He rubs his eyes and looks at the time: past midnight, he’s surprised to find. He’d continued reading the book he’d started during _Planet Earth_ earlier in the evening, but it had turned out to be more interesting than he’d expected, and he’d gotten lost in the pages. Even if they don’t find out what’s going on with Cas, at least Sam has become an expert on angels in the process. He could’ve used most of this knowledge back when Lucifer and Michael were duking it out the first time. _The more you know_ , he hears in that annoying tune from his childhood. He’s contemplating bed when Cas shuffles into the library, looking forlorn and clutching, weirdly, a knitting book.

Sam nods at him. “Can’t sleep?”

Cas shakes his head as he slumps at the table. Sam has never seen Cas with such bad posture as in the past few weeks. It’s very strange, and very human. If they weren’t all so freaked out about what was wrong with him, he’d be glad to see Cas relaxing a little. The guy has had a rough time of it the last few years—well, they’ve all had, but he and Dean are used to it—and deserves having some time to really enjoy being on Earth. He vows to redouble his efforts to figure out what’s happening to his friend.

“We’ll figure it out, Cas. Promise.”

Cas picks at the edges of the book cover. “What if this is something that’s never happened before? We might not be able to find an answer.”

“We’re three smart guys with lots of smart friends. If it’s not in a book, someone will be able to figure out the answer. And, if we don’t … it doesn’t seem to be affecting your grace or your angelhood, right? I mean, it’d suck if you’re uncomfortable for the rest of your life, but it’s better than losing your grace, isn’t it?”

Cas looks thoughtful. “I don’t think I’d be that upset if I became human again. Permanently.”

Sam feels his brows rise. “Really?” He doesn’t think he’d ever want to become immortal, but that isn’t something an already-immortal being has to contend with, so immortality probably doesn’t seem as unendingly boring to an angel. But angel powers kinda rock, so he’s surprised Cas would give that up.

“Humanity has many gifts that angels don’t possess,” Cas says slowly. “Joie de vivre, free will, pity, love, forgiveness.”

“Hate, malice–”

“Angels have those too,” Cas says with a wry grin.

“You also have free will, love, pity, and forgiveness,” Sam says.

“We weren’t supposed to …”

“But you chose to anyway.”

“Choice,” Cas huffs.

“Do you want to be human, Cas?” This isn’t the first time Sam has wondered about this. He’s seen longing in Cas’s eyes many times, and it’s hard to know what exactly he’s longing for (besides Dean, that is).

As if reading Sam’s mind, Cas glances toward the corridor leading to the bedrooms, where Dean currently sleeps. He opens his mouth and closes it again without speaking.

“We’d one hundred percent support you if you did. You wouldn’t have to leave like last time.” Sam’s still pissed at Dean for that whole debacle. Cas is their family, and he didn’t deserve to be treated so shittily.

“Just what you’d need: a useless, clueless human.” Cas sounds bitter.

“Hey, I keep Dean around, don’t I?”

The corner of Cas’s mouth quirks. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s better than bitter.

Sam leans forward to look Cas in the eyes. “But seriously, you won’t be a burden. You hunt and research, same as we do, and you’ve got way more lore knowledge and language skills than Dean and I combined. Plus, we’ve chosen you as part of our family. That should clue you in to how much we like you. All you need to do to stay here is be yourself.”

Cas’s face softens a little, and he gives a nod of acknowledgement. “Thank you, Sam. I’ll keep that in mind.”

And because he can’t help himself—these two really need to figure their shit out before Sam defenestrates himself to get away from the pine forest growing in the bunker—he adds on, “plus, if you leave, I’ll have to deal with Dean being all lovelorn and mopey-depressed, and I don’t know if I can do that again.”

Cas’s head whips up from where he’d been staring at the table, and his eyes are wide. “Lovelorn?”

Sam nods with extra earnestness. “Oh yeah. Major yearning. It’s pretty pathetic. I mean, not that you’re not great or that I don’t want you two to be happy, but holy shit, the dude is a bit codependent. He has no chill.”

“For _me_?” There’s no way Cas can really be that clueless, can he? Clueless angel or no, Dean’s pining is obvious as shit.

“Dude, where have you been this week? He’s been tripping over himself to make you comfortable, he has no sense of personal space when it comes to you anymore, and let’s not even talk about the soppy grins he gives you.”

“Me?” Cas still looks stunned, and Sam has to admit he’s enjoying watching it. It’s kind of endearing when it’s not completely frustrating.

He grins. “Yeah, you.”

“Even though I’m …” Cas looks down at his body, and Sam knows he means the male body thing. He tries to put his friend at ease.

“Trust me, that’s never really been a barrier except in his own mind. But yeah, even though you use he/him pronouns, he still wants you.”

Cas looks thoughtful for a few minutes, and Sam lets it sink in. Please, let this help them get their act together soon. He’d like to concentrate on his own life for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sam, forced to suffer through watching pining for forever. Dude deserves a fucking break.


	7. What Dean Says

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean figures out what's wrong with Cas, wings are discussed, lots of domesticity happens, and bedsharing becomes a regular thing

“Come on, twitchy, we’re going for a walk,” Dean announces the next afternoon. Cas has been complaining crankily for the last ten minutes that the library chairs are uncomfortable (he’s not wrong), and if Dean reads another word, the English language will cease to have any meaning to him. Unlike the past two mornings, sleep failed to settle a restless Cas this morning.

Dean doesn’t let himself think that it was his own presence in bed with him at the motel, not the sleep itself, that had settled him a little. They slept separately last night, because how does one ask their best friend if they want to platonically sleep together? They may be blurring the lines of personal space right now, but he doesn’t want to let himself hope. This could all go away as soon as Cas gets better—and he _will_ get better, if it’s the last thing Dean does—so he isn’t going to let himself get used to this, even as he revels in this temporary closeness between them. Cas just needs physical comfort right now, like Sammy when he had the flu as a kid, it has nothing to do with feelings he might possibly (but probably does not) harbor for Dean.

Cas cocks his head in that way that Dean refuses to think is adorable before giving a shy nod. They head outside to a path through the surrounding trees that Dean has worn away over the years he’s called the bunker home. A little time communing with mother nature goes a long way to calming a restless mind or spirit, he’s found.

“Bad day, huh?” he asks the restless angel walking beside him. Cas nods. “Grace still feels okay, though?”

Cas sighs, exasperated. “Yes, Dean. I still only have the same symptoms I’ve exhibited the last few days, nothing new. I’ve still got angel radio, and my connection to Heaven is strong as ever.”

The news relaxes Dean slightly, but he points behind them, where three large feathers glint in the dappled sunlight. “You’re losing more feathers, though.”

Cas glances at the trail they’ve just walked, and he flushes.

“Why d’you get embarrassed when you see your feathers?” Dean asks. He likes seeing them, seeing a part of Cas that he’s never been able to before, even if the sight reminds him that there’s something wrong.

Cas clenches his hands at his side and continues walking. “For one, they look terrible: ragged, burnt, and mangled. Wings are meant to intimidate our enemies, but who fears this mess?” He gestures behind him at the hidden wings. “And two … I guess they’re just not something a human has ever seen, so it feels a bit like I’m flashing you.”

Dean laughs and bumps his shoulder. “Aww, Cas, do you need me to throw some beaded necklaces at you?” When Cas gives him a confused glance, he shakes his head. “Never mind. Plus,” he adds, more seriously and too quiet, “I think they’re great.”

Cas’s gaze jerks to Dean’s, his blue eyes wide. “Really? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”

“Yeah, ‘course. They’re great. Love the color. Are all angels’ feathers the same?” He can’t believe he’s never asked before, but it had always seemed like something they shouldn’t talk about, especially after the Fall.

Cas shakes his head. “No, much like hair and eye color in humans, angel wings manifest differently for each angel, though mine have changed a bit over time, such as when I became a seraph.”

“Oh yeah, they got bigger, didn’t they? Very intimidating,” he adds with a wink. God, _why_ does he keep winking at him? Flirting, even low key, is not a good idea. But Cas smiles up at him happily, so he doesn’t beat himself up about it too much. “Not sure about the rainbow sparkles, though. Seems a little too ‘promise of God’ to me.” He bends to pick up the latest fallen feather and twists it in his fingers to make it shimmer.

Cas smiles down at it softly. “That’s my favorite change.”

“Another seraph perk?”

“Ah, no. It was before that, but still fairly recent.” His cheeks go a bit pink, but he looks pleased.

They walk on in silence for a while, though they stop to pick up dropping feathers (leaving angel feathers around is not a smart move) or so Cas can gawk at plants and animals.

Dean points out a little brown bird, who twitches and pokes his beak back into his feathers. “He reminds me of you,” he says with a laugh. Cas looks insulted, but before Dean can tease him further, he remembers something from the show they watched last night (yes, he’d enjoyed it, no, no one can ever know). He whirls to face Cas, grabbing his shoulders. “You’re molting.”

Cas tenses. “Yes, I’m aware that I’m losing feathers, Dean.” He gestures to the bouquet of feathers in Dean’s hands. “It’s a bit difficult to forget.” His voice is tight.

“No! I mean, you’re molting, like birds do when they need to replace feathers. Like Attenborough said last night!”

Cas still looks annoyed. “I’m not a _bird_.”

“No, but you do have a physical manifestation of your wings when you’re in a vessel on Earth, and _those_ are kinda like bird wings. Yeah,” he continues excitedly, getting into the idea. “Few angels spend a ton of time on Earth, so no one probably talks about it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. Or, maybe, it usually doesn’t happen, but with your wings like they are from falling, they’re finally trying to regrow.”

Cas looks like he’s going to protest, but he stops and furrows his brow. “I … suppose it’s possible. Though my wings have never healed in this way before.”

“Yeah, because you were stuck up in the Boring Place in the Sky. And you had light waves or thunderclaps or whatever you have for wings up there.”

“Perhaps.”

It’s not a straight no, and Dean’ll take it.

***

They spend the next few days debating ideas and researching birds. And though Cas is still extremely put out at being compared to a bird, even he eventually admits it makes sense, especially once they eliminate spells or weird angel magic as possibilities. He doesn’t gain any new symptoms, and his feathers continue to drop. He’s still as cranky as ever, perhaps more so now that Dean and Sam dig into their arsenals for as many bird jokes as they can manage.

Dean sticks mostly to very light teasing, though, and only when Cas isn’t feeling terrible, which is pretty much only first thing in the morning, or when they accidentally find themselves cuddling (Dean shudders every time he thinks the word, he does _not_ cuddle) in front of the television. He’s not sure what about it helps Cas—is it pure physical contact, or contact specifically with Dean—but he’s not fighting it. The rest of the time, he tries to find little ways to ease his best friend’s discomfort, bringing him tea or snacks (birds need extra food for energy when molting, so it can’t hurt), settling blankets around him when he gets chilled, letting him pick what to watch, even when he picked last time and it’s _another_ documentary. They still bicker sometimes, because Cas is a _cranky_ fucker and Dean is not good at backing down from a fight, but it’s not like it was the first couple of weeks, when they sniped at each other constantly.

At this point, they’ve slowed the research, since it seems like they just have to wait it out, though Dean finds himself picking up an angel book from time to time simply so that he can finally learn more about the being who means everything to him.

They don’t talk about the nights they shared a bed at the motel, and they haven’t repeated the setup since they returned to the bunker. And Dean hates it. He misses the warmth and comfort of a bed companion—or if he’s being honest, he just plain misses Cas.

The fourth night back at the bunker, Dean’s bedroom door open to reveal a shrouded shadow, but he knows exactly who it is, and it makes his heart beat in double time.

Without a word, Cas stumbles into the room, shutting the door behind him and crawling onto the bed beside Dean. He’s apparently brought his entire bedding with him, which he arranges around them before settling himself flush against Dean’s side.

“Can’t sleep,” he pouts, and nothing else is said. Dean puts his arms around him and sweeps a hand soothingly up and down Cas’s back, and Cas sighs.

Dean thinks he’ll stay awake all night, but just as had happened at the motel, the warmth and comfort send him off to dreamland after only a few minutes.

After that, they don’t even try sleeping apart. Cas is less grumpy, and truth be told, so is Dean. Sam watches them with a knowing eye but says nothing, thank goodness. He can be an annoying little shit most of the time, but sometimes he’s not half bad.

Dean fills up two jumbo-sized trash bags with feathers by a week’s end, and another three by the following week. They continue to not talk about their new sleeping arrangement, and Cas’s molting has become a tired topic. They go back to their regular lives; well, as regular as they can get with no hunting and no apocalypses.

Dean keeps cleaning up the bunker, and it’s almost three weeks after their last hunt before he thinks of the term “nesting.” He laughs to himself at how true it seems to be, but he keeps doing it. It makes him feel good, making this place more of a home for his family. His culinary skills, already pretty decent after living in the bunker for several years, improve even more with his constant cooking and baking, and Sam complains about having to run more to keep the weight off, though he doesn’t stop eating three helpings of everything.

Cas takes up knitting, of all things, to keep himself from fidgeting. He’s a quick study, of course, and knits up three hats in just a few weeks, and he’s so proud of them that Dean doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s not exactly a beanie guy. Sam takes to wearing his around the bunker as the weather turns chilly, and Dean has to admit it’s an improvement over the ridiculous hair, though still just as douchey.

Sam keeps himself occupied with a few small solo hunts and a lot of research he’s ‘been meaning to get to for years.’ He comes home one day with something called the Discworld series and hides in his room reading the approximately thousand books when he’s not in the library or kitchen. Dean wonders if he’s trying to give him and Cas privacy, but doesn’t let himself think on it too hard. He just enjoys this quiet peace while it lasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rainbow sheen on Cas’s wings is a bit of a tribute to Misha Collins saying he thinks Cas has rainbow wings. And yeah, it totally appeared when he fell in love with Dean. ;)


	8. What Castiel Says

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the molting finally slows down, and Cas gathers the courage to tell Dean his feelings

Castiel has been molting for almost a month when Dean points out that it seems to be slowing. He’s been grumbling for days that he doesn’t understand how mostly burnt and mangled wings can have so many feathers, and Castiel has to explain that just because the projection shows only two wings does not mean that’s all he has. Dean takes the news with his usual aplomb, but he seems relieved when the shedding slows.

“Maybe soon I won’t wake up being poked by these infernal feathers in my bed,” he grumbles as he gathers up the night’s new feathers from their nest of blankets.

“My wings aren’t infernal, they’re celestial,” Castiel protests, but it’s half-hearted. He has bigger worries.

Like what will happen when the molting ends, and he can’t use the excuse of needing physical comfort to stay in Dean’s bed anymore? The thought has been at the back of his mind for weeks, but now that it looks like there’s an end date, it comes to the fore. The long-term hadn’t been on his mind the first night he’d appeared at the foot of Dean’s bed, but it’s been something he’s come to hope for during the time since then. They don’t talk about it, but it’s still nice knowing that at the end of a long day, he has this comfort to look forward to, and he doesn’t want it to end. Ever.

He thinks Dean might possibly want the same, based on what Sam has told him, but he’s so hard to read, even after knowing him for so long. Is he just being a good friend? He’s a natural caregiver; he wants to see those around him happy and comfortable. So, are those fond smiles and soft embraces just his way of taking care of Castiel during his time of need, or is it more? Sometimes Castiel thinks he sees longing in his eyes, but perhaps that’s his own wishful thinking. Even though Sam begs to differ.

The morning they wake to only a single feather in the bed with them, Castiel decides he has to say or do something. He doesn’t like this not knowing. He hasn’t mentioned that his other symptoms have started to abate as well, or that new feathers have started growing, but it’s only a matter of time before Dean asks.

The day feels tense, but Castiel isn’t sure if he is overlaying his own anxiety on the mood, or if Dean feels it as well. He does seem to be looking at Castiel more, studying him. He has a furrow between his eyes all through lunch, and it worries Castiel. Perhaps he is getting ready to tell him they need to end this—the bed sharing, the intimacy, maybe even Castiel’s residency in the bunker. He must know that Castiel is better now, that he doesn’t need caring for, and he must be antsy to get back to his real life, which has never included Castiel for longer than a few weeks at a time.

Castiel’s resolve to confess his feelings from only a few hours before wavers. What is he thinking, ruining their friendship just so he can spend a little more time with the man he loves most—on this plane and every other? Is it worth it? Is it worth possibly losing Dean for good, just so that things can be a little bit different?

Then Dean says—with perhaps a hint of waver in his tone?—that these past few weeks have been good, that it’s been nice getting to breathe and just hang out and talk about inconsequential (word of the day) things. He says he might like to do it again sometime, and hope rises in Castiel like bubbling water in a fountain. He smiles and agrees that it has been nice, that it would be nice to have it again. But he doesn’t say **_it_** yet. Who wants love professed to them over a midday sandwich? (Well, Dean probably would, but it doesn’t feel right to Castiel, so he waits.)

Sam comes into the kitchen and grabs his own lunch, and after some meaningless chatter, they decide to play board games, because apparently it’s preposterous that Castiel has never done so (though who would he have played them with, if not the Winchester brothers? They are his family). They hang out in the library the rest of the afternoon with Scattergories (Castiel wins), Risk (Sam), and Trivial Pursuit (Dean), then close it out with Parcheesi, which absolutely none of them understand and so no one wins. They drink a few beers and make nachos, and it’s the most at home Castiel has felt since he arrived at the bunker, apart from his nights with Dean. He never wants this warm, comfortable feeling to end, and when he looks deep into Dean’s eyes, he thinks he sees that feeling reflected there.

They talk about what to have for dinner, but Sam gets an odd look on his face and bows out, saying he’s stuffed from the snacks and tired from the beer and games. He exits for his room with the oddest smile on face, but Castiel can’t concentrate on that as his mind scrambles for a way to tell Dean everything he feels. Human language, as amazing and odd as it is, doesn’t always allow for the best communication. He considers the mental manipulation that Dean calls a Vulcan mind meld, because maybe then he could begin to express everything he feels for the man. But that might make Dean no longer trust him, not knowing if what he was seeing were true, and that’s the last thing he wants. He’ll have to make do with inadequate words, it seems.

With Sam gone, they decide on burgers. Castiel, of course, doesn’t need to eat, but he sometimes enjoys it when Dean is there, because Dean enjoys it. And he remembers fondly how good burgers tasted when he was human, and wishes he could still taste whole meals, rather than the particles that make them up. But still, he does take pleasure in eating with Dean from time to time. It’s more the communal cooking and the breaking of bread that Castiel finds meaningful.

They work as a team, and they joke like they only do when it’s just the two of them, and when they sit down to eat, the air around them is soft and warm. Dean is telling a story, and it takes him six minutes to realize he hasn’t eaten a single bite. Castiel teases him gently for it. After they finish, Castiel thinks it’s time.

They’re lingering at the table with glasses of whiskey. Laughter hangs from their lips. Castiel looks up from his glass to see Dean gazing at him with a fond expression. His smile widens when Castiel’s eyes meet his, and he opens his mouth for a moment, but he doesn’t speak. He spins his whiskey glass around instead.

_Now_ , Castiel’s inner voice says.

“Dean,” he begins, then stops. How does one go about confessing their everlasting love for their best friend? Or for anyone, really.

“Yeah, Cas?” his eyes are wide and so green.

“I’m … feeling much better today. My new feathers are coming in, and while I’m still not sure I’ll ever be able to fly again, the irritation is gone, and I don’t feel fatigued anymore. I think I can transition back to normal life now.” He thinks it’s a good way to begin, so that Dean understands that his feelings are his own, and not something caused by the molting or otherwise stemming from a biological imperative.

Dean drops his gaze to the table, and the smile that had been at the corners of his mouth halts. “Oh, right. Yeah. Just the one feather this morning, I figured this was comin’.” He nods down at the table.

Castiel frowns. This isn’t the reaction he had hoped for. Perhaps he has read it wrong, and Dean just wants to be friends, and because he knows Castiel so well—better than any being has ever known him—he sees that Castiel is about to profess his love, and he’s dreading it.

Castiel fumbles, unsure whether to continue. “I- your help has been invaluable. I truly don’t think I would have made it through this without you. You- your lov- uh, thoughtful care is very much appreciated.”

A furrow appears between Dean’s brow, and his lips tighten. “Yeah, of course, Cas. That’s what best friends are for, right?” He glances up briefly, and Castiel doesn’t understand his expression. He doesn’t know what to do.

He closes his eyes, and he thinks back on the last few weeks, on how he’s felt more himself around Dean with his mask stripped and Dean seeing to the very heart of him, warts and all. And he remembers Dean staying, helping, offering whatever comfort he was able, even when Castiel was being a big grump. He then realizes that, even though Dean will likely rebuff him, he has to say it. He needs him to see this one last part of himself. There’s a liberation in that realization. He opens his eyes and smiles at Dean (for the last time?).

“But I was hoping …” Dean’s eyes fly up, wide and bright … and … hopeful? “That it doesn’t have to end.” He clears his throat. “Dean, I’ve told you several times over the years that I need you, and that remains true—you are the reason I’ve become the person who I am today—but I’ve failed to speak the whole truth. Which is that I also want you.”

Dean’s lips tremble. “Want?”

Castiel smiles, big and bright, because with truth comes freedom. “Love. I have never loved anything in creation as much as I’ve loved you. And I’d hop–”

His words are cut off by warm lips on his, and even though he saw Dean surge forward, he still gasps in surprise. Dean pulls back just far enough to see his eyes. He studies him for a few seconds. “Okay?” The word is gruff but soft, just like the man himself.

Castiel wishes he could speak, but words have deserted him. So he simply nods. Dean leans forward again, and he cups Castiel’s jaw in one hand as he presses his lips back to Castiel’s, back where they belong. Castiel closes his eyes and savors the contact. He breathes Dean in and begins the hopefully very long process of learning every inch of this amazing man.

When they pull apart a few minutes later, Dean grins in that way that used to make jealousy boil up in Castiel. The one where a beautiful woman flirted with Dean, and he lost all sense of cool as he drooled over the attention. But now that he is the cause of it, it makes Castiel’s stomach swoop with joy and maybe a little pride. He smiles back, and it’s probably just as goofy.

“Does this mean I can continue sleeping in your bed?” he asks hopefully.

Dean chuckles but he looks relieved. “If you want to.”

“I do,” Castiel whispers.

“Okay then. Yeah.” Dean pauses. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Dean. You can always ask me anything.”

Dean smirks. “I’m gonna remember that next time I’ve pissed you off. But anyway.” He looks down at his glass, picks it up and swirls it around. “You don’t need to sleep, right?” Castiel nods in agreement. “But you _want_ to sleep with me? Like, _sleep_ sleep.” Dean’s cheeks pinken, which is extremely endearing, given how much he considers himself a Lothario.

“Yes, I definitely want to. Both meanings of sleep, to be clear.” Castiel winks at him, and Dean’s face flushes further. _Very_ extremely endearing. “I don’t need to, but I enjoy it, when it’s with you.”

“Sam said that once. He said you do more human things when I’m around. Is this,” he indicates between them with a finger, “why?”

Castiel smiles. “Sam is very perspicacious. Yes, I enjoy how much you love doing these things, and I like being a part of that joy. You make me more human, Dean. You always have.”

Dean ducks his head shyly. “I think you make me more human, too.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. Good.”

They smile goofily at each other. It’s the best Castiel has felt in weeks. Months. Millenia.

“So. Uh,” Dean begins. “Does this mean you might … stay at the bunker? With us? With me?”

Hope and happiness spin in Castiel’s stomach. “You want me to stay?”

Dean grins. “For as long as you want to.”

“Is forever too long?”

“Not remotely.”

They still have things to figure out. They’re an immortal angel (mostly) and a human hunter. They live dangerous lives. But they’ve taken the first step. Castiel thinks they just might be okay.

“Oh, and, uh, Cas?” Dean flushes again. “I love you too.”

Yes. They’ll be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, words were actually said, folks. Are you as surprised as I am? Probably not, if you’re reading a fic you know has a happy ending. But whatever, it’s still fun getting there, isn’t it?
> 
> P.S. Is Parcheesi difficult to understand? I dunno, I’ve never played it. The name just popped into my head, so I used it. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	9. What Sam Says

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is relieved, deuxième partie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a very few final thoughts from Sam to round us off.

Sam walks into the kitchen the morning after he’d had to watch Dean and Cas make worried, longing eyes at each other, and he just _knows_. He’s not even quite sure at first how he knows. People have been convinced that Dean and Cas are a couple for almost as long as they’ve known each other, because they definitely have always acted like it. There’s always been an intensity to the way they look at each other, like no one else is worth their time. It’s made Sam question the nature of their relationship a few times himself. But this, today, them sitting at the table … They look different.

They’re relaxed, that’s what it is. There’s a softness in their eyes and their edges, a looseness in their muscles. And then there’s the way Dean grins at Cas with massive heart eyes. Yeah, it’s a look Sam’s seen on him before, but it’s never been so open, so unguarded. It’s incredibly soppy, and Sam is definitely teasing him about it.

“Oh, thank _God_ ,” he sighs out, loud enough for them to hear. It’s best to play this a little bit comedically to keep Dean from raising his defenses. “I thought I was going to have to lock you two in a room.” He goes for his morning coffee before joining them at the table.

Dean and Cas stop staring at each other goofily just long enough to roll their eyes and give Sam the stink eye. But Dean ducks his head in that shy way he somehow still has, even after all they’ve been through and seen and done. Cas bites his lip to hold back a grin, but it doesn’t work. Then the two of them are laughing. Sam just shakes his head, but he smiles and kicks his brother’s foot.

“I’m happy for you,” he says sincerely.

Dean nods with pink cheeks. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and when Cas slides a hand over his, he turns his own over to lock their fingers together.

Sam had wondered if he’d ever get to see such a domestic, couple-y thing happen to Dean, whether with Cas or someone else, and he’s incredibly relieved to find it has finally happened. He feels like he can take a step back and breathe. Maybe even figure his own life out. It’s a bit overwhelming, the thought, but also kinda good. So much possibility. For all of them, if they can get the no-more-apocalypses thing to hold for a while.

“So, Cas,” he says, again marveling at how at peace his friend looks. “You’re back to normal now. What’s next?”

Cas and Dean look at each other and grin.

“Anything we want,” Cas replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG we made it to the end. How exciting. I hope you enjoyed coming along with me on this journey to love with a grumpy angel and equally as crabby hunter.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have something to say, drop me a comment here or come babble excitedly at me on Tumblr [@vateacancameos](http://vateacancameos.tumblr.com/).


End file.
